


A New Heaven

by Theophila



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theophila/pseuds/Theophila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's a difference between saying 'no' and loving someone". Peter reflects on his relationship with his dad, and receives some pastoral guidance from Winston.</p><p>Title comes from Revelation: "and I saw a new heaven and new earth, for the old heaven and earth had passed away." Just thought it was relevant since the story deals with the religious views of heaven and hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Heaven

**A New Heaven**

 

Nearly everyone in the lobby of the firehouse flinched as Egon closed his locker door more loudly than usual. Looking for all the world like a schoolboy caught without his homework, Charlie Venkman fiddled with his hat, and cleared his throat.

 

“Well, I ah... I guess I'll see you boys around,” Charlie said, his voice indicating his discomfort. Rightfully so, Peter thought as he hung up his overalls. His dad had, once again, put the boys through another of his harebrained scams. This time, it involved trapping ghosts in vials in holy water. Peter had quipped about drinking spirits back when it had been brought to his attention (resulting in a groan from Egon), but the media attention the scheme had garnered had been costly to the Ghostbusters reputation.

 

Now, Egon's face was a studied mask of composure as he attempted to avoid dignifying Charlie's presence with the attention he sought. Ray blearily offered a half-hearted smile and a wave to Charlie, and Winston nodded his farewell.

 

“Guess so,” Peter replied. Trying to push his anger aside, he turned from the innards of his locker to look at Charlie, arranging his expression in to one of measured calmness. “Try to keep out of trouble, Dad.”

 

“Trouble? Seems to be my middle name,” Charlie commented.

 

Peter made a face. That was what he was afraid of. Rather than admit that, he shook his head. “See you around.”

 

“You too, son,” Charlie nodded. He fiddled with his hat again, hesitated, waved to the others and then left.

 

Peter closed his locker door, yawned and stretched, checking the time on his watch. “Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I need a nap. Don't wake me up. Even if the customers _are_ female and attractive.” He smiled at that part. He knew, of course, that if any more calls came in, he'd take them anyway – he would complain about it, but he'd take them. The quip was more his way of deflecting attention from his current state: he was furious with his father, but honestly, he really didn't feel up to talking about it. Sleeping seemed to be the only way to guarantee he wouldn't be asked to open up about it right now.

 

Ray watched Peter's back as he ascended the stairs, and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Winston looked just as troubled, but said simply, “let him go, man. He'll open up when he's ready.”

 

With a sigh, Ray nodded. Wishing they could do something was useless, and instead, he turned his attention to retrieving used traps from the back of Ecto-1, Winston grabbing a few of the traps also, and Egon plodded upstairs to the lab with his PKE meter.

 

***

 

Sometime later, Peter pushed aside his blankets, and opted instead for sitting on the side of his bed. A glance at the clock told him he had been trying to get to sleep for at least an hour. He sighed, and rubbed at his forehead. On the table next to his bed, was an old, black and white photo. He was in his robes, graduating for the first time with a degree in psychology. With him was his mom. She was smiling, so proud of him, seeming to glow in her light coloured ensemble – the same outfit she wore to church on sundays. As always, dad wasn't there – the photo had been taken by Egon, who had surprised Peter by showing up to offer his congratulations. Peter's mom had, on the spot, invited Egon to celebrate Peter's graduation. Egon had initially – although graciously – declined, but his mom insisted, and Peter had even indicated that Egon's presence was welcome.

 

It had been two months before Charlie had even deigned to call to congratulate Peter on his graduation. Dad explained his absence as a, “pressing business opportunity” in California – albeit, one that had nearly immediately fell through, with his dad looking for another means of making a living.

 

Peter sighed. Same as always. His dad never turned up for Christmas, birthdays, other special occasions... He vaguely recalled a certain level of guilt he felt during his confirmation. The sermon that morning had focused on Christ gathering his disciples, the simple words of, “follow me”. But the priest had made note of Christ's commandment to leave your sacrifice at the altar and be reconciled to your brother in the event of a quarrel. It had been explained as the reason why confession existed – so that one might be reconciled prior to giving thanks at the altar. Peter remembered shifting uncomfortably in his seat at that: how could he reconcile himself to a father who was never present?

 

Even now, as Charlie tried – and often failed – to get involved in Peter's life, the resentment remained. Why couldn't Dad have been there earlier? Why couldn't Peter have had a normal life of both parents at Christmas, on birthdays, for his first communion, for his graduation? Instead of their only contact being drawn into his dad's seemingly endless scams, risking life, limbs and reputation?

 

“At least I know what hell looks like. Finding my way when I get there should be no bother,” Peter mused out loud. He put the photo on the bedside table and turned to glance at Winston, who had been standing at the doorway to the bunkroom, and was wandering over to him.

 

“Jesus doesn't work that way, man,” Winston told him as he sat down opposite him. “And you've got to choose to go there. God doesn't enter the equation.”

 

It was true, Peter reflected: the last time the Busters had been to Hell, the majority of the spooks were there by their own free will, not because some lofty deity had sent them there. At this point, Peter admitted to himself, he wasn't even sure he believed any longer in the existence of God. He could accept the idea of some bearded guy with long hair going by the name of Jesus – or whatever that would have been in Aramaic – walking around telling people to love their neighbour, but to Peter, the chances were that Jesus was just some guy, and not actually the son of God – nor God himself.

 

Peter gestured to the photo on his table, which Winston picked up to look at. “It's bad enough Dad's schemes seem to involve me a lot of late, but... when he starts involving you and Ray and Egon... Janine...” He paused, looking at his hands. “It's hard to reconcile with someone when circumstance makes you hate them.” It was strange to hear himself admit that. _Hate_. He'd always felt that was a strong word. But it was probably accurate enough for how he felt, for the anger he'd stuffed away...

 

Winston nodded, putting the photo down. “I'll admit I get mad at your old man sometimes as well, Peter. So does Egon. Even Ray. But that doesn't mean any of us'll be punished for it. I mean, what greater punishment is there than the dread and hurt that comes of that anger every time you see him?” When Peter didn't answer, Winston added, “Hell isn't just a place. It's a mindset. The only one who can keep you there?”

 

“Is me. I know,” Peter replied. “I guess I should give Dad more credit. At least he's trying.”

 

“I've seen how look at him, and the way you talk to him,” Winston agreed. “And I wouldn't call that hate. You care about him, right?”

 

“That's the problem,” said Peter glumly, scuffing at the floor. “He knows that, too. He'll just keep coming back with his harebrained schemes because he knows I can't say no to him.”

 

“There's a difference between saying 'no' and loving someone, Peter. You of all people should know that.”

 

“I guess,” Peter murmured. Getting to his feet, he wandered to the window, looking out at the street below. Outside, people went about their lives – a mom pushing a stroller with bags on the handles, kids walking home from school, salarymen hurrying back to the office after a coffee run...

 

“Sometimes, Peter... loving someone means being hard on them. There's no shame in it. Sometimes... sometimes, people gotta learn, you know?”

 

Peter nodded. “But... he's still my Dad,” he said after another moment's thought, turning to Winston. “And if he's in danger... I've got to go to him.”

 

“I hear ya, man.” Winston had to admit to understanding – his own family didn't believe in ghosts, but even he had gone to their assistance when trouble had arisen, without shame and knowing that the experience would be unlikely to change their view of his job. “I hear ya.”

 

Just then, both men were interrupted from their thoughts by the alarm ringing. Peter looked up at the flashing light and smiled.

 

“No rest for the wicked, eh?”

 

All Winston could do was shake his head and chuckle before following Peter to the firepole.

 

**END**

 


End file.
